Will They, Won't They
by and so they said always
Summary: Castle and Beckett's relationship consists of thousands of what if's, nearly's and almost's: all the times their ever-present tension could have bubbled over into Something. A collection of scenes where the two came so close to crossing the fragile line between them. Both Castle and Beckett's perspectives: why they didn't make the leap, and why they wished and wanted to give in.


**Hi guys,**

**So this is my new collection of stories.**

**Each chapter will be an installment of 800 - 1500 words, and be the same moment told once from the perspective of Beckett, and from the perspective of Castle (you'll get what I mean when you read the chapter).**

**As indicated by the summary, it's their thoughts at all those times they ****_so nearly _****got together, with each considering the various outcomes and the what-ifs.**

**This will include LA, the cherry moment, the Countdown, etc. **

**Unfortunately, though it seems a little over-done, I am beginning this series with 1x01, the pilot episode. It doesn't really do justice to what I think the series can be, but bear with me.**

* * *

**Will They, Won't They ****– ****chapter 1  
****a caskett fanfiction**

**1.01 – Flowers for Your Grave**

* * *

_Beckett_

This is definitely something of a metaphorical crossroads.

Beckett feels the faint breath of air from the alley sigh through her hair, and appraisingly glares at that playboy smirk on that playboy face – a very, very self-assured face, belonging to a man who knows what he wants, and seems to think he's going to get it.

She's only got two real options - and then thousands of variations on how to deal with her choice.

Either she says _yes, _or she says _no, _and then she'll have to figure out where to go from there.

The former is tempting – she'll give him that. She has absolutely no doubt that it would be amazing, and quite possibly unforgettable. For her, anyway. For him, it would blur into the dozens of other one-night stands, just like she blended into the hundreds of other fans at the book signing years ago.

He doesn't remember her from then. She knows that if she gives in (at least forty-nine percent of her really, really wants to), she'll be just as memorable (that is, not at all) as ever.

So, in its way, _no _is very appealing, too. She's always been the wanderer of the road untaken.

When he'd done his little deductive trick on her earlier, he'd surmised she didn't just take the socially acceptable options, didn't do what other people expected.

And now, how she longs to not do what he expects. There's a possibility it will be even more satisfying than whatever it is that he's got planned: she will be the one who walks away, leaving him hanging, not vice versa, as he is no doubt used to with women.

Beckett may have outgrown her former wild streak (or, rather, it was torn away by life and circumstance), but old colours fade slowly. And she just can't resist offering him a hint of what he's missing. To make herself unforgettable. But what?

She could kiss him.

Just a single kiss, and then turn and walk away. Dangle what he could have in front of him like a shiny toy, and then snatch it away.

But there are two problems with this plan. One, there is at least a sixty percent possibility that if she starts kissing him, she won't stop (which is both odd and irritating, seeing as she doesn't even really _like _him). Two, it will prove to him that she's interested, and he might call it a win at half way.

No, she's got to show him what he's missing, but act like she doesn't feel any loss at all. As if he's completed failed to make any kind of impression on her (he hasn't failed, not at all) and that she's not even interested enough to give it a second thought (she's given it at least twelve thoughts).

And now Beckett knows how to play it to ensure maximum satisfaction.

He's a mystery novelist, however, and she's a natural mystery.

Always leave them wanting more, that's what her grandfather, the amateur magician, had told her. She doubted he'd thought his advice would be applied in such a circumstance, but things rarely go as planned.

Beckett starts to lean forward, and she can tell he thinks that she's changed her mind, that she's going to kiss him.

But she's not.

"You have _no_ idea," she whispers, letting her self-assurance and amusement seep into her tone, as well as a tiny hint of something else that she knows will frazzle his nerve endings and by-pass his brain entirely.

He really _doesn't_ have any idea, but then again, neither does she.

So when she's turned away with a carefully calculated sway of her hips, she's left wondering _what if?_

* * *

_Castle_

It's the first time in a few years he isn't sure he's got a woman hook, line and sinker.

Which is strange, because his charm, wit, wealth and (if he does say so himself) astonishing good looks make him a veritable poster boy for the Hollywood's _the guy who gets the girl._

Well, he's made his offer. Put his cards on the table. He's allin.

And, oh, _how _he wants to win.

She's a stark contrast to the others: she's not plastic, or blonde, or wealthy. She's one hundred percent real and intriguing and confident and clever and he's surprised by how much that does it for him.

He really, really hopes she takes him up on the whole debriefing thing.

Castle watches her teeter, just for a moment, on the brink of indecision, and he thinks he's got her. But then her eyes flash dark with controlled amusement and self-satisfaction, and suddenly he's a long way from certain. The basketball he has thrown is ricocheting off the backboard, he can tell – and just when he thought it would be a three-pointer.

Whoa. Castle makes a conscious effort to quell any kind of doubt. He's not a nobody college student anymore, he reminds himself.

He's Richard Castle. Rich, handsome, funny, handsome, suave and (he should mention this again) handsome. And rich. Did he forget rich? And on top of that bundle of tallies in his favour is the fact he just helped this beautiful and stubborn detective solve her case, whether she'll admit it or not.

Oh, and she's a fan.

He smirks. Yeah, this is nothing less than a done deal.

"It was nice to meet you, Castle," she tells him, with the implication of finality, and parting ways.

He doesn't let his surprise, and no small amount of disappointment, show. Castle makes one last-ditch attempt to salvage the situation and walk away with the prize. "That's a shame. It would have been great."

Okay, so maybe she won't go home with him, but he's reminding her to regret her decision (hopefully as much as he does). He'll walk away with the upper hand, which is almost good enough.

Who is he kidding, it's probably not even _close _to good enough, but at least it's something.

She bites her lip, hesitating a moment.

Huh. He fights the sudden urge to give her a hand with that particular endeavour (the lip biting, not the hesitating – she should _stop _hesitating, and just give in).

She leans close, and he can feel the soft dance of her breath on his cheek. "You have _no _idea," Kate Beckett promises him, and he believes her.

Then she turns on those impossibly high heels of her and walks away from him, not bothering to spare him a backward glance. Like she's got much better options than him (if she wanted them, he doesn't doubt she'd be able to get them), like she couldn't care less, like he's not worthy of her time of day.

Oh, he is _so _not at all done with her.

He will be the guy who gets the girl, no matter how long it takes.

It doesn't quite register that that's a very un-Castle-like thought. He doesn't chase women, they chase him. But the enigma that is the

Detective has thrown him into the deep end, and where she is concerned, he's already in way over his head.

* * *

**Okay, so I hope you liked it/are interested. Leave a review to let me know, and any moment you would like written for this series.**

**The next chapter will be the infamous "You smell like cherries" scene.**

**x. M**


End file.
